Solo [The Silver Sliver] Misery Hates Company

[Lucillus Nitrozian]

6th of Summer, 514 AV

"There’s an ear in the shadow and an eye in the lock," Lucillus murmured to himself, his voice low and secretive for fear of others hearing him sing. "And the words you said are rumors new," he whispered, each note compounded with another slam of his boots down upon the wooden walkaway. Underneath the bridge, the black canal of Ravok lay undisturbed, all Ravosala apparently having forsaken the area for the moment. That was good; Luc hated when Ravosala passed underneath the walkways with idiots aboard, because they always reached up and tapped the underside of the bridge. Thunk! It'd go, and the fools would laugh and laugh and laugh. "‘cause we all want to see what She’ll do to you, in ol’ Rhysol’s Ravok!" He remembered the first time it had happened, he was nine, and he had thought the bridge was going to collapse underneath him. Seeing the cackling faces of the men on the Ravosala as they appeared from under the bridge filled him with a bestial contempt that he had yet to truly shake.

Nor did he want to shake it. People were shyke, and the more he focused upon that, the easier his job was going to be.

"There’s an old boatsman, down ‘tween the docks," Luc continued, breathing in the brisk air of the city morning. It made no sense to him that the summer season should begin so chilly, but he figured that Rhysol's protection must have something to do with the odd weather. The good lord and father must have seen that the rest of the world was burning up in the heat, and decided to give us a little refreshment. This is why he's in charge. "Who’ll get you where you’d like to go," he breathed, spotting the outline of the Silver Sliver poking out from the nearby, nondescript buildings. Petching finally, came the thought, bitter and low. Feels like I've been walking for bells. Looking down to make sure that his scrollcase was still intact - it was, which disappointed the young lawyer - Luc took a deep breath and directed his course towards the door to the tavern. Would have preferred hunting windswept papers through the canals, than handling just one more stick-in-the-mud client for the family. "And he’ll throw you out for less than a gold, in ol’ Rhysol’s Ravok!"

One step inside the tavern, and Luc knew that today was going to be an awful day. It wasn't due to any problem relating to working conditions - in fact, the Silver Sliver looked positively empty today. The usual two or three patrons frequenting the tavern during the morning hours were conspicuously absent. The floors were wiped clean, the food looked appetizing and fresh, and th sweet aroma of alcohol was already bewitching his senses. His favorite waitresses were on duty, and Jeb himself looked chipper... for Jeb. There wasn't any trouble inside the Silver Sliver that made Luc aware of the day's misfortunes... it was just a feeling that he had, more akin to a premonition than an instinct. He tended to have occasional glimpses into the future's troubles, manifesting themselves as a queer clenching of his stomach and a strange, feverish panic overcoming him. And while they never told the full truth of what they were anticipating, and sometimes they were outright inappropriate, Luc had learned to trust them anyway with a begrudging attitude. The lawyer felt eyes upon him as soon as he pushed his way through the door, hungry eyes searching for gold in his pockets, and they were not dissuaded when they realized his identity. The serving girls, staying near the back for the moment, gawked at the Nitrozian in the doorway. I know what they're thinking: 'Look, it's the boozehound, come again for his treats! Watch him enjoy himself, he's like an animal!'

Taking a low sigh, he noticed that Jeb, the crafty bartender of the Silver Sliver, was already grabbing a mug and reaching for the tap. Annoyed, he raised a hand. "Hey, Jeb! Nothing for me today, alright?"

The old man looked surprised. "Cut you off from the family purse, eh?" He asked, his face scrunching up into a sour little ball.

Ignoring the rude quality to Jeb's remark, Luc shook his head. "No, I'm - I'm just trying to save up." Because my family did shut down my allowance, you presumptuous prick. I hope you and this petching tavern incur Rhysol's wrath, cause I'd love to watch it burn. Hefting his scrollcase tighter into his grasp, the lawyer advanced into the tavern and pointed at one of the corner tables. "Mind if I do my business here, today?" Jeb shrugged out an answer approximating roughly to no, and Luc nodded. "Good. I'll just keep to myself then." Waving a brusque farewell to the bartender and the waitresses, he stalked over to the distant table and slid onto the corner seat. Setting his scrollcase atop the wooden surface, he pulled out a few blank sheets of paper, ink, and a quill. Stuffed into the case was also a small number of rudely handled contracts, their corners rumpled and the creases deep. Taking a quick perusal of them, Luc counted four in total, meaning that four clients were on their way to meet him at the Silver Sliver. I should get my own office, he remarked to himself for the hundredth time, shaking his head quietly. None of this second-guessing shyke from the family secretaries. I'm sick of having someone else handle my appointments.

In fact, I'm sick of having someone else handle my business. Pursing his lips into a disgusted grimace, he reached into his pocket for some pipeweed. He always made sure, upon leaving the Nitrozian estate, that he brought along enough Swamp Weed for at least two full smokes. If he didn't, he'd run back to get some - there were other pipeweeds in town that he could purchase, at a far cheaper cost, but nothing did it for him like Swamp Weed. It was just so rich and dark and expensive. Smoking it made him feel like a king. Adding a pinch of the weed into his pipe, Luc dipped it towards the nearby candle and lit it from the small, trembling flame. Taking his first puff on the pipe filled him with content and placated him for a time, as he waited for his first client to arrive at the tavern. But soon after, the violent, angry thoughts began creeping back in. Why should I keep kowtowing to the family that I loathe? Why should I keep crawling back to them for business? I have marketable skills, and it's not like I'm a bad lawyer. I can find my own clients, no problem... I don't even need the Nitrozians for protection anymore! I should...

I should...

And, as always whenever he considered leaving the family, Luc froze.

Ah, shyke. He muttered to himself, breathing in the rich fumes of Swamp Weed. No time to think about this now. Might as well just... get the job over with.

[Lucillus Nitrozian]

His first client came at noon, the second two bells after that, and the third two bells after that. His first client came on time, the second client came ten chimes late, and the third came to him delirious, stinking of ale. His first client was an able-bodied young man, the second a flustered woman with a rat's nest of hair, and the third a clubfooted geezer with fabled connections to the Black Sun. His first client spoke clear and precise Common, the second kept getting switched up with phrases in Pavi, and the third was barely intelligible. But for all of their varied differences, each client read lines from the exact same script, a script that Luc had already memorized long before this dreary morning. They played their parts well, but the lawyer played his part better, and he knew what to say and when to say it. Luc wasn't adept at handling their requests because he was a skilled lawyer - though he believed very intently that he was. Rather, he knew how to handle their routine problems because he had already done so dozens upon dozens of times before. For two years he had been working the Nitrozian's legal angle, a meager sum by all accounts. Yet he knew every trick to these boring, predictable scenarios simply because they had been repeated to him a hundred different times, from a hundred different voices.

He tried to find something unique, something thrilling, about his job today by delving deeply into the stories his clients presented, but sadly they were nothing worth writing home about. The man, who stank of pride and strength, came to him quaking with fear at the thought of the man-eating fish hiding under the lake. He wanted to be released from his obligations to the Nitrozians, get away from the fishing industry and perhaps look into a different line of work deeper into the city. Normally, Luc wouldn't have had a problem with negotiating a premature end to the man's contract, even though he knew that the fish monster wasn't the real problem - just an excuse the man was leveraging to get out of his five year assignment early. The Nitrozians wouldn't look good if they kept their workers chained to the fishing boats, with the lake becoming an incredible hazard, and the man could always just picked up by another house-run business. No one cares about the odd worker or two jumping ship on their contracts, so long as we get a hefty surcharge. He was about to approve of the man's decision to breach the contract... when he took a closer look and realized that his client wasn't just a regular worker. He had been hired on as a captain. "I'm sorry," he explained pointedly, gesturing with his quill at the document. "But you can't end your contract early."

"What?!" The man demanded, taken aback. "But the longer I stay out there, the more danger I'm placed in! Your little contract says that I have the right to refuse exceedingly dangerous work."

"And you do have that right," Luc explained, keeping his tone level and his gaze intent. "...For exceedingly dangerous work. All we're asking you to do is to keep fishing."

The man snorted. "Fish in a lake with a sea monster! That counts as dangerous to me!"

"Then you're putting too much stock in rumors." The lawyer sighed, taking a long drag from his pipe. For added effect, he opened his mouth and let a hot steam of Swamp Weed caress the man's face, making the poor sucker blink uncontrollably. "The Ebonstryfe have the situation handled. They're already mobilizing a group of water-attuned slaves to deal with the monster, and you know that our good Lord Rhysol would never allow such a beast to threaten us. You're really going to dismiss the work of both the Ebonstryfe and Rhysol?" The man fumed, but couldn't bring himself to answer. Sensing weakness, Luc lunged in for the kill. "Rest assured, the Nitrozians would not send you into a situation that we weren't convinced you'd be safe in. These fish... sea thing, will not trouble you, and if it does, we will be sure to cover the costs of your treatments." Luc didn't set this into writing, of course he didn't intend to make this promise on the behalf of the family. Besides, why would the Nitrozians bother spending hard-earned mizas for the sake of one stupid captain that run afoul of a giant fish? "Good day," he then announced, causing the man to push himself away from the table in a huff. A coward at heart, Luc decided, utterly lacking the spin to even defend his rights. If anyone deserves getting eaten by a sea monster, it's that buffoon.

His next client was even more trivial. The Drykas woman was obviously in a great hurry, for she entered the tavern late and sopping wet. "So sorry!" She exclaimed, explaining that her condition was due to a nasty slip into the canal. For such a dimwitted horsepetcher, Luc only had so little patience, and he was steeling himself for this to be a difficult and irritating affair. Thankfully, her problem was simplistic in nature; she wanted to get a job within a Nitrozian-owned store, and just needed a suitable contract drafted that would grant her certain privileges within the city. Such as, "being able to visit my Strider four times in a week to feed and bathe him," and "allowing me to have several plants growing in my work place at all times." The requests were ridiculous - probably fueled by some pathetic sentimentality for Cyphrus - but Luc went out of his way to write them into her contract. In return for him obliging her each and every request, the lawyer was able to set her up with an eight year contract that would involve little advancement, little pay raises, and little tangible benefits from the Nitrozians... making her only slightly better off than a slave. Every time she tried to object, he just reminded her: "Who else is going to look after both you and your Strider? Any other employer would just buy it off you and then sell it for the meat. We do have a food shortage in this city, you understand."

His last client was perhaps the man Luc liked best. For he came, drunken and leery, shambling over to the table with a bottle of wine in his hand. "Care for a drink?" He muttered, barely able to stare straight ahead.

And Luc didn't argue. "Cheers," he said after the drinks were poured, tilting his head back and downing the most disgusting wine he had ever drunk. Then he proceeded to scam the old man for everything that he was worth.